The Jarl's Boy
by SkyrimJunkie
Summary: They were just lads. He was five, and the other boy was seven. There were no other children there, just five old men. These old men were to be their sole companions for as long as they chose to remain on the mountaintop. For the older boy, that would be the rest of his life. For the younger boy, he hoped he would learn as fast as possible in order to leave as soon possible.


_**AN**__: This is the first in a short series of one-shots that adds a backstory to Ulfric Stormcloak and his character in my story "Hero by Mistake". I will be posting the one-shots separately due to their varied ratings. This particular one-shot briefly narrates Ulfric's and Balgruuf's time at High Hrothgar and gives background about their families._

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**The Jarl's Boy**

They were just lads. He was five, and the other boy was seven. There were no other children there, just five old men. All of them were native to this land.

The old men all had long, grey beards. Some wore them styled, some let them grow wild. They dressed in dark grey robes with belled sleeves suitable for tucking their hands inside, which they did often. They almost always had their heavy hoods hanging over their heads, not because it was cold, but rather because it helped them drown out the world around them.

These old men were to be their sole companions for as long as they chose to remain on the mountaintop. For the older boy, that would be the rest of his life. For the younger boy, he hoped he would learn as fast as possible in order to leave as soon possible.

The older boy had lived in the citadel with the old men for three years already. He had been born in the shadow of the snow-capped mountain, said to be the heart of the land, and since he could talk he had voiced his desire to serve their people's goddess-mother alongside the monks on the mountaintop.

The older boy was the son of a jarl. His entire family, in fact, was descended from jarls, all the way back to an ancient king of the very land where the boy was born. His ancestor-king was said to have once captured a dragon in his palace.

The older boy never acted like royalty, though. He was humble, and painfully righteous. He loved the gods, _all _of the gods, and to serve them and practice their gift to the children of the north was his ultimate desire. In his stead, his younger sister would become jarl when their parents died.

Being the son of a jarl was the only thing the younger boy had in common with the older boy.

He was born in the great eastern city, a land much colder than the older boy's. But even with his natural resistance to the cold and acclimatization to the constant winter of the north, he did _not _want to live on a snowy mountaintop with five old men.

He didn't have a choice.

When he asked why, _why_ he had to live on a mountain, his father told him. Before he married, the jarl received a vision from the gods which convinced him that a son of his would one day be king, but only if the son could _speak to_ _the gods_. His father's court wizard interpreted this to mean the boy would have to learn the language of the gods – the voice gifted unto mortals by their goddess-mother.

After only three years of being mentored by the men with the grey beards, the easterner excelled beyond everyone's expectations. The older boy had been there for six years, and still struggled to master even one word of power, despite his devout desire.

The older boy grew weary of his constant failure but persisted in his dream, even if the easterner became the favorite of the men with the grey beards. Patience, patience, the monks would say to him. Words of power take years to truly understand. His dedication and love for the gods would help him in time.

And then word came of his sister's death. The older boy had no other siblings. After much deliberation and speaking with his mentors, he decided to go home to take his place as heir to his father, to ready himself to rule the people his family had ruled for hundreds of years.

The easterner had won by default. A false victory.

Despite now lacking the drive that had pushed him thus far, he excelled even further in the way of the voice. He finally believed his father's vision truly _was_ sent by the gods.

One day, he would be _king_.

And then the elves invaded the empire.

His father had sent him letters updating him on the events. He wasn't there, after all, to become one of the secluded monks on the mountaintop, but rather _learn_ and _understand _their ways, just as his countrymen of legend had done.

He was there to fulfill a prophecy.

Months after learning of the elf invasion, he grew agitated. He couldn't concentrate. He had mastered three words of power, and couldn't think of a reason to stay longer. He already spoke to the gods, and often.

Now, he wanted to be a _hero_.

He was nearly fifteen. He convinced himself that he could easily lie about his identity and age to say he was sixteen, and therefore old enough to join the imperial army.

Wrapping himself in his warm blue-grey cloak, he left the snow-capped mountain without saying goodbye to the men with the grey beards.


End file.
